Amongst All This Darkness
by cherche lestrange
Summary: Lyriana Tabris left Denerim hoping for a better life with the Wardens, but found a warden isn't born, she's made... Spoilers DA:O/DA:A Warning: Implied rape. Please R&R, its my first FF. F!Tabris. in slow progress
1. Prologue : The Heart's Filthy Lesson

"Now remember what I told you," Adaia laughed, holding out a hand to Lyriana. She helped her up off the ground. "If you catch me off balance you have a greater chance of getting a fatal blow."

"Yes, mama," Lyriana said, leaping to attention and ready to go again, not even phased by the ten times her mother had bested her so far.

They practiced, hidden in a small garden in the alley where the brush had overrun the vegetables. It wasn't much room, but they were under cover and had a wall to them, so weren't likely to have their cover blown, at least not by someone who wasn't looking for them.

Lyriana was getting better in hand to hand combat all the time, but it was hard to practice with weapons, even fake ones as she had. They were made of wood and could barely hurt anyone, but they were good enough for practice and it was unlikely that she would come across a real blade anytime soon, if ever.

Her mother had a surprise for her, though.

"Look what I snuck out from under the floorboards," Adaia said secretly as she unraveled from the lining of one of her pockets a brilliant pair of silver blades with green and red stones on the hilt that shone and sparkled, even in the half light of the alienage.

Lyriana's tiny jaw dropped. They were beautiful. The light gleamed off the metal, even in the half light of the alienage.

"My grandmother gave them to me, she was Dalish," Adaia began as she let Lyriana pick up one of the blades. "They are said to have extra power to those who wield it of our line. I would really love for you to be able to use these someday, as she did."

Adaia lowered her eyes, but Lyriana barely noticed as she examined the fine blades. They must have been very old yet looked as sharp, clean and strong as the day they were forged.

"Mama, they're so beautiful," she said, imagining herself felling legions of men with them in battle. Mighty Lyriana, shem slayer.

"They're yours," Adaia said, smiling. "Not that you can take them out from under the floorboards without asking." She smiled and ruffled Lyriana's hair. "You have Dalish blood, girl. I can tell. You look just like my grandmother."

Lyriana looked down at herself and wondered how she looked like anyone, least of all someone who was wonderful as Lyriana's grandmother sounded. They lived free of men, even in some places drove them away. They lived apart, according to their own tradition, and Lyriana's great-grandmother was said to be a keeper, one of the highest honors of the Dalish, as she had heard it.

"Soris says the Dalish never existed," Lyriana said, frowning as Adaia put the daggers back into their sheaths and back in her pocket.

Adaia laughed. "That Soris," Adaia said, "Your cousin is cute but not bright like you and me. He couldn't find the Dalish in a Dalish camp, but don't worry I can."

"Really?" Lyriana's face lit with wonder. "Can we go, mama?"

"Of course, one day," Adaia said, her smile was broad but her eyes turned away. "Why do you want to go to see the Dalish anyway? Don't you like it here with me and your papa and cousins?"

"No, I hate it here," Lyriana pouted, flouncing on the ground in protest. Adaia smiled. Lyriana was only ten, after all.

"You hate it here?" Adaia said in mock amusement. "What's not to like about such a place as a beautiful alienage in Denerim?"

Lyriana frowned. "It's stupid."

Adaia shrugged. "I don't like it because it's dirty and the shems are always around to make trouble for us, but I don't know if I would call the alienage stupid."

"Well, that's what I meant, I guess."

"My sweet Lyriana," she said. "I love you so, but always remember how powerful words can be."

"Yes, mama." Lyriana sighed and rolled her eyes out of her mother's view. She had been lectured so many times and in so many ways on how to speak truth, find injustice, how to fight and make traps. Her friends were always running around playing, or getting into the shopkeepers hair, or finding a stray dog to play with and Lyra was always in this alley, getting lectures and learning to fight.

"Come now, Lyriana," Adaia said, standing, "just a little while longer. You look as sullen as your father."

Lyriana stood heavily and faced her mother. "What is the point of fighting? We never win."

She almost hadn't realized that she was thinking aloud, and opened her eyes wide, afraid of what her mother might do.

Adaia stood for a moment, in thought, and then turned to her, sighed deep and said, "One day, we will win. Don't you want to be ready?"

"We really will one day, win?" Lyriana's eyes lit up, hope brimming in her eyes. So few elves ever talked about fighting the shems, much less saying it would be a winning fight.

Adaia sunk to one knee and looked Lyriana in the eye. "Why do you think we'll never win?" Lyriana didn't answer. She didn't want to talk about things she knew her mother already knew. She was young, but being young meant almost nothing in the alienage. Death and rape and sadness had never been new to her.

After a few minutes of lingering silence Adaia said, gruffly but firmly. "Lyra, my love, one day there will be a fight we'll win. That's why I teach you. I want you to win."

Lyriana wanted to believe this so much. Her mother had never steered her wrong before, and she had no reason not to believe her, but when she looked around that alley, looked around her world, she saw no hope in it. Elves turned each other in to the human lord for a pittance, sometimes only a few bits, for crimes real or imagined. It barely mattered. Soldiers came in to rape or kill elves often, and no one lifted a finger. Lyriana's youth did not spare her that knowledge, but when she looked up at her mother she smiled. It was empty as a sail with no wind, but she smiled.

Adaia was not paying attention but was looking away intently, down the alley to the tree in the main circle.

"Mama?" Lyriana said and Adaia shooed her towards the brush in the vegetable patch.

"Stay down, and stay quiet," Adaia said, "and then run home."

"What's happening?" Lyriana whispered.

"Just run home as soon as you can, Lyra." Adaia handed Lyriana something small and hard, kissed her on the head and turned on a heel towards the alley.

Lyriana sat still as a statue, and heard nothing. She looked at what her mother had handed her. It was a small, white rock with carvings in it and she had no idea what it was or what the carvings were. She sighed, put it in her pocket and crawled slowly towards the edge of the wall, when her curiosity finally started to take her senses. She unhooked her scabbards with her little fake daggers, and crawled out.

She saw several city guards in the alley, all crowded around but not facing her way. They were also effectively guarding one of the only ways for Lyriana to run home.

She studied the alley, looking for options, wondering if she should hide until they ran away, but her mother told her to run home and her mother made her swear that she would do whatever she said when it came to her training. Though Lyriana saw little point in it, she enjoyed it, and she enjoyed knowing she had a secret, a dangerous one.

Lyriana noticed that what they were crowding around was her mother, who was now stripped naked. She let out a cry of shock, frozen to the spot, the image washing into her mind of these shems, holding her mother down. Lyriana began to scream.

They all stopped and turned to her, her voice was so frightened, so horrifying. Adaia's body fell to the ground, her blood running into the dirt.

Lyriana didn't know what took over her but she ran at the men, screaming a horrid war cry as she jumped at them and kicked and scratched at them.

The man whose shoulder she had jumped onto started screaming "Get the knife-ear off me, damn thing has gone insane," to the laughter of the men around him. He then let out a loud yell as Lyriana sunk her teeth into his ear, taking a chunk off and spitting it onto the ground.

A large knight in shining black armor, the mark of the captain on his helmet, pulled Lyriana off effortlessly by the pigtails. Lyriana screamed as he held her at arm's length away from him, like a disgusting insect and then threw her small body down the alley. Lyriana's shoulder hit on the edge of a broken crate as pain lashed through her. She lifted a hand, she was bleeding, and a large chunk of wood was lodged in place.

The Captain raised his hand, "Hobbes, go take care of the girl."

"No!" Adaia yelled from the ground. Her voice came out hoarse and ragged. "Please, let her go. Do whatever you want with me just please..."

Lyriana didn't wait to see what was going to happen. She knew that there was no way she would get out alive if she didn't run, so she ran. The chunk of wood pulled out of her shoulder, splintering off as she grunted with pain and threw it behind her. She heard a jingling of chain mail, but Lyriana was fast and melted into the shadows in the dark corners of the alienage. She watched as other elves scattered in his wake. He looked around and couldn't see where she went.

Lyriana sized him up. He was clearly younger than the others, a new recruit probably, and a man she had never seen in the alienage before. She could take him, she thought, blood pouring down her arm.

Hobbes turned after a moment and went back down to the alley, back to her mother.

Lyriana ran out of hiding and ran all the way to her home, threw open the doors to see her father standing above the fire. "Lyra?"

"Daddy," she said, sputtering as the man's blood dripped down her chin and from her fingertips.

Cyrion appeared, his face drawn with worry. "Your mother?" he asked urgently.

Lyriana was panting so hard she could only nod. Cyrion stood quickly and crossed to the table to get the knife. "Calm down, child," he said. His voice was trembling. "They will be coming, you know what to do."

"Yes, papa," she said, stripping off her dress as her father handed her worn pants and a tunic. As she laced the pants closed and was pulling on the boots, Cyrion cut off her two long braids in two short movements and threw the excess hair into the fire along with her dress.

A disgusting smelling smoke came from the fireplace. Lyriana watched her long, dark locks be consumed in the flame as a sickening smell filled the room.

"Quick, go wash your face and wash out your mouth," Cyrion said as he stood, taking the knife and hid it under his mattress. He put them away just as there was a loud knock on the door. "And don't say a word, no matter what happens," he whispered in her ear before running off to the door.

Lyriana scrubbed her face quickly, swishing bloody water in her mouth as she dumped it and spat onto the floor while clenching the muscle of her aching shoulder, trying to slow the bleeding. She was in shock; she stared at the wall as she sat on the floor and pretended to play with a doll her father had carved out of a piece of firewood for her. It was of the prophet Andraste.

"Are you Cyrion Tabris?" a voice barked. Lyriana knew it to be the Captain she had heard earlier in the alley. Her breath froze.

"Yes I am," Cyrion said with a bow, his voice smooth and natural. "What can I do for you, sers?"

The Captain walked into the hovel and scrunched his face. "It smells like a burning cat in here."

"I'm so sorry, ser," Cyrion said again. "We burn what we must to keep-"

"Save it knife-ear," said the man with his ear bitten off. Lyriana noticed there were less men here than in the alley and wondered furiously what they had done to her mother.

"Is this brat yours in the corner?" the Captain said giving a hard stare at Lyriana who said nothing.

"This is my nephew, ser," Cyrion said. "He lives with me."

"All your children look like girls," the Captain said, crossing in front of Lyriana as she looked up at him. "I never will be able to tell them apart. I could swear this was a girl."

"These rats always have children popping out of the mortar," one of the officers said with a sneer and the other joined him in snickering.

"Boy," the Captain said, pointing at Lyriana. "What is your name?"

Lyriana kept her mouth shut and looked to her father. "He is dumb, my lord," Cyrion said. "His name is Tiron."

"Tiron what?"

There was another loud knock on the door and the Captain turned away from Lyriana at last and opened it. It was another soldier. He whispered something to the Captain and he nodded and shut the door.

"Your wife, Adaia Tabris, was found with weapons in the alienage," the Captain said, a sneer passing his lips. "She is to be executed tomorrow afternoon, as is the law."

Cyrion's face twisted in anguish, "Executed? But sers, please show mercy!"

The Captain came to Cyrion and stared down at him. He had a massive frame and his black armor glowed wildly in the fire. Lyriana's father looked like a piece of grass about the get trampled by the hoof of a giant steed. "The mercy I show," he said coldly, "is not burning you and this miserable cesspool to the ground."

Cyrion backed up against the wall, his body shaking.

"You knife ears don't know how well you have it here," the Captain began again. "Traveling once, oh I can't remember the name of the city. I wish I could!" He had a large smile and leaned against the wall, his face very close to Cyrion's. "All the elves in one little quarter, away from us like the rats you are. And we give you freedoms, and get them thrown back in our faces by whores like your wife. You will see. You'll all see the price for breaking our lenient laws."

The Captain turned and walked out the door, his two officers trailing behind him. While the door was open he could see a town crier in the middle of announcing to the alienage, "-for the crimes of unlawful weapon ownership, attacking the honored guard of-" and the door slammed shut.

Cyrion stood as if frozen, for a moment. He then walked and put a cauldron of water over the fire. "You will need to clean that wound," he said, his voice dead. "We'll have to ask Valendrian to heal it tonight."

Lyriana sat silently, eyes fixed on the tiny Andraste in her hands. If she hadn't been learning to fight, if she hadn't attacked the man... would it have all been different? Would her mother be spared or would Lyriana simply be dragged kicking and screaming off to the dungeons, never to be seen again?

She got up and went to bathe and dress the wound. This, too, she had learned a bit of from her mother, and as she wrapped the shoulder and the blood slowed even more, she saw her mother showing her how it was done.

She put the clothes she had been wearing back on, accepting a different tunic Cyrion had laid out for her, and looked into the uneven mirror to see her dark brown hair now shorn to the ears, which made them stick out more than she thought she was able. Andraste's tiny figure stared up at her and Lyriana threw it across the room.

When she finally came out and looked to her father, his body slunk in the corner, sobbing with grief. He looked up at her, his eyes wet and anguished, gasping. He took her into his arms and held her head, kissing her on the forehead. "It will be okay, my love," he whispered as he rocked her and they cried together for longer than she could fathom.

When her eyes finally closed into a heavy sleep the name of the prophet Andraste was on her father's lips.


	2. Chapter 1 : A Night Like This

"To the bride!" Shianni said, lifting her mug to Lyriana. "Andraste bless you, my sweet cousin!" The rest of the girls raised their cups and there was a raucous cheer. Lyriana raised her glass, a thick smile painted tenuously on her lips as she took a deep sip.

She had sat in the corner, smiling as she was bid, drinking deep from her mug and keeping quiet while the girls had their fun. The truth was that Lyriana was not much excited about her impending wedding. The choice being out of her hands was only the beginning, but she had learned harshly what it meant to uphold tradition, to roll with the punches and jabs the station they had been forced to placed upon them. And a wedding wasn't a bad thing, after all. They were always a big deal in the alienage and watching her friends and family be happy, even joyful, was enough for her to find some good in her duty.

They had found a small alcove off the main road and sat in as much seclusion as they could find, and drank their cheap wine and brandy, gossiping about men and children and rumors of the families that were coming from Highever with the bridal party.

"I hear Nelaros is quite a catch," Shianni said loudly, ale sloshing from her mug. "Let's hope he has a brother." She winked at Lyriana and she smiled back at her cousin.

"Shianni!" Rose gasped through a laugh.

"What? Should I not also see if I can find myself a husband?" Shianni wobbled to her feet. "Or at least someone distracting in the meantime?"

She stumbled back to the ground with a laugh as a chorus of giggles followed.

Lyriana was glad they were distracted; her mind was elsewhere. It seemed her mind was always elsewhere, her face a mask to the emotions she knew she should be feeling. She had grown up knowing how to manipulate her emotions, to build a wall around herself and that her expression was her greatest asset when it came to protecting herself. Her face was stern and serious, she was quiet, always listening, but she rarely let herself get close to anyone, and since the death of her mother she wasn't even close to her father anymore. She felt like the closest person was across the world, an echo from a distant world.

No choice on the alienage, no choice on the wedding. Lyriana's life was a world without choices. She frowned into her mug of wine, smiling dimly when it left her lips.

"Come now, cousin," Shianni said, lifting her glass to Lyriana. "To you!"

"That we were all so well-endowed to receive such a gem of a husband," Rose said somberly, taking a terse sip from her glass as her eyes averted from those that had turned to her.

"What?" Shianni's eyes flared in her direction. "Is that any way to talk to the bride? You jealous, simpering..." Her face was turning as red as her hair.

"I didn't mean any offense," Rose said, scooting away from Shianni, shooting a pleading look at the other girls to jump to her defense. They all knew too well not to interfere with Shianni's temper, especially when she'd been drinking.

"Oh no?"

"Shianni," Lyriana said, lifting a hand to stop her cousin's tongue. Shianni looked at her hard. "This is supposed to be fun."

"Supposed to be," Shianni said, moving over to Lyriana's ear, whispering loudly enough for the others to hear, "Are you just going to let her dig at you at your own party?"

Lyriana sighed. "I make no bones about the fact that my father bought me this match," she said to everyone as they dropped silent. "I know it better than any of you do so, no, Shianni," she said, turning again to her cousin, "I am not offended. Rose simply said the obvious."

Shianni furrowed her brow. She had probably been looking for a fight, for a bit of excitement and now her ire seemed to turn on Lyriana. She said nothing, though, picked up and moved over to where another group of the girls clustered. Lyriana knew that this peace was her wedding gift.

The night picked up again shortly, the offense soon forgotten and Lyriana returned to her drinking without further interruptions from the others. Lyriana could find no way out of the marriage, no way over or through it. It was a problem that from every side made her uneasy, unhappy and lost. The only thing that brought her through was the fact that her father was able to afford to keep her in the alienage with him, her family and their friends. He meant well.

I won't even get to see a different alienage, she thought darkly. And I will die here, as I have lived.

Her life was set before her. Her mother had not told her how to find the Dalish as she said she would before she died. She wished now that she had, though part of her, over the years, started to think that they were fantasies of her mother's to get her to work hard and train, fairy tales to inspire her. Even in the eight long years since her mother had died, Lyriana had trained hard, by herself, to keep up her strength, to stay quick and balanced, so that one day the Dalish would accept her when she found them. She wondered, now, what the point of it all had been. The only thing her fighting had been good for was to keep her fit.

Lyriana scowled at the thought of her mother, her blue eyes darkening.

She stumbled home, Shianni at her arm. Lyriana was drunk, to be sure, but she had her wits were with her on some level. She walked Shianni home, brought her inside and slapped her into bed. If left to her own devices she might have fallen asleep too close to the fire again and singed her hair right off her head.

Shianni's eyes fluttered as Lyriana pulled the thin blanket over her cousin. She let out a slight groan and said, "I love you, Lyra." Lyriana smiled down at her. She looked so at peace. She kissed her on the forehead and headed home.

The great tree stood before her, its dark, twisting arms reaching inky towards the dark sky. There was some light from torches about, but their scarcity cast eerie shadows on the street as Lyriana walked alone. She stopped at the tree, held a hand out to touch it. This tree had always given her some sense of comfort, to touch the wood, she could feel a surge of relief from some energy she could not identify. Some believed a tea from the bark could heal minor injuries, others liked that it hearkened to an older tradition, but most wanted to cut it down and use it for firewood or to fashion crafts. Lyriana knew that it was a special tree, but that was where her opinion ended.

"Little late, isn't it?"

The voice made Lyriana jump, her limbs slow and clumsy with drink. "Who is it?" she stammered, her heart racing as she stared wildly into the pitch.

"Just some dashing fellow," the voice softened when he saw her fear and Alarith emerged from a shadow. "You know," he began with a smile, his voice soft, "beautiful women such as yourself shouldn't be wandering about all alone at night. Who knows what could happen?"

Lyriana smiled up at him, his eyes dancing behind a half-smile. She took a sidelong look down the alley, saw no one. Distantly, she heard a dog howl, but nothing stirred within her sight. She raised a hand to his face and traced his thin lightly with a finger, a sad smile on her face.

"Alarith, my dear Alarith," she said, her voice soft and her mind elsewhere. "Strong and handsome and—"

Her voice dropped off and he led her into a dark corner, took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Lyriana's heart beat fast as she returned the ferocity of his kiss, his lips tasting delicious on her pickled tongue.

"Oh, Lyra," he said, taking her slight form in his arms and holding her head against his chest. "My little bird." His fingers ran through her dark hair as she silently felt his warmth, heard his heart.

"I love you," Lyriana heard herself say. She was almost surprised to hear her own voice, hear those words come from them.

Alarith took her face in his hands. His eyes were deep with emotion. His eyes betrayed his feelings, always. Alarith had always been tough to crack, hard to pin down, and his wandering spirit sent him on the road more than once to sell wares where he could. He had always said that you should never give away your position in a sale, that your face was your greatest tell. But his eyes, Lyriana had always been able to read his eyes.

"Ma serannas, little bird," he said, his eyes smiling. He kissed her cheek again.

"Let's run away," Lyriana said, looking up at him. She felt her heart beating faster, her tone desperate. Most elves didn't run from their marriages, but most elves also didn't like the idea of arranged marriage. It was a tradition, one of the few they had anymore, but Lyra felt it was just another bind she suffered, one more thing imposed on her against her desire.

Elves had run away before, off to another alienage or to try to find the Dalish. A few made it to different alienages and some eventually came back. Many were never heard from again. The more hopeful elves thought it was because they found the Dalish and were living wild and free in the woods. Lyriana did not think they had been so lucky.

"You can't, Lyra," Alarith said. "It pains me, it does, but it has to be done."

"Others have run!" Lyriana said.

"Never to be seen or heard from again," Alarith said firmly, but he looked away.

"You're a merchant, couldn't we just travel?" She was reaching. Elven merchants were not well thought of, not in the east.

"What, forever?" He smiled at last. "You want to be on the run?"

"Better than here!" Lyra's voice was rising. She did not often drink, but when she did her emotions were sharp and intense, bleeding from her lips and her face and her eyes as she spoke, when the passion struck her. It struck her now. "What road is worse than this place? What fate is worse than this fate?"

"Spoken as someone who has never left this place," Alarith said with a sigh. "There is nothing out there, Lyriana. Nothing you can't find here. Less even."

"Less?" Lyriana's sadness was turning to anger now, and she was happy for the darkness and late hour. "Less? How can there be less than this poverty, of watching people you love beg and steal and whore just to get a bit to eat? I know some of us don't get to travel as you do, but you have to see how horrible it is here."

"They do this everywhere I have ever been," he said, scratching long hands through his red hair. "The difference is that you have people here who love you. People whore and steal everywhere, but at least here it's among people you love."

She huffed and knew he wouldn't budge, and that he was right to some degree. She loved her father, her cousins, her friends. She loved Alarith and though she hated the alienage she really did have no idea what was beyond Denerim. She knew wherever there were shems there were problems, and the shems were everywhere so trouble would follow her regardless of location, just for being who she was.

"Lyra-"

"They killed my mother here, Rith," Lyra said. She felt defeated and slumped against the wall behind them to the floor. "They just killed her."

"Lyra," he said softly, "that was ten years ago."

Lyra stared daggers at him, her jaw set. She didn't say anything else about it though. It wasn't worth the thought, the care, the anguish it brought back to her. It was not an argument she would win, or could, and was pointless.

"I can't leave." The truth of her words crashed onto her alcohol-riddled mind like a cell door, a dungeon of circumstance.

She turned and looked him square in the face, the venom in her eyes not lessened. "So this is the end then?"

"Everything ends," Alarith said. "It was amazing to be with you, to know you."

"And you can just accept that? Do you hear yourself?"

"And what am I to do? Your dowry is paid, your bridegroom on the way. I account myself lucky that I even get to still see you," Alarith's voice rose, a passion stirring. "Everyone is unhappy about alienage affairs, Lyra. I am unhappy I have no choice in losing you, but I am aware that there is no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"No, Lyra, there should always be a choice. There is a difference," his face twisted in the torchlight that glimmered from a distant corner. "We have few choices, and this is not one of them. I can't fight a system that has been around since before Andraste's time. It's just how it has to be."

"Has to be," she repeated. Lyra looked solemnly into his eyes, the pain there was intense. She knew she had been selfish, thinking herself the only one who suffered. She wished there was something she could do, something that would change the fate of her friends, her family, Alarith. She knew if there had been something short of tucking tail and running she would have found it by now.

"Let me walk you home," Alarith said. "One last walk."

"Just a walk?" Lyra said. Her eyes were wide, her heart racing.

"As opposed to what?"

"Tonight I belong to no one," she said, taking his hand and putting it gently on her breast.

Alarith turned his head and faced her, taking his hand away. She saw his eyes sparkling, a tear in the corner. "I cannot," he said, a dim smile forced on his lips. "It would be too much. I can let you go, I can see you off to be happy, but I can't lie with you tonight. I can't…" His voice cracked and he fell silent.

Lyriana stared down at her empty hands, dirty, cold. She focused on them for an eternity it seemed. She didn't cry. She couldn't. She was too helpless to cry, even that seemed out of her hands.

"What's his name?"

"I don't even know," Lyra said. Her father had probably told her, and the girls seemed to know everything about him, but none of it mattered to Lyra. "I think it starts with an R."

"You're getting married tomorrow and you don't even know the groom's name?" He seemed disappointed.

"What difference does it make?" Lyra said, she took his hand and he did not resist. She held it in her own hand and traced a finger on his, fearing it would be the last time she would feel his skin against hers.

"Couldn't we just…" she started to ask, and didn't finish, knowing the futility. She knew he wouldn't want to keep seeing her after she was married to someone else. She wasn't even sure she wanted it, but she was desperate.

She put her head against his shoulder, taking in his smell, musty and dirty, covering a smell uniquely his and lost herself in his warm embrace. Her head was swimming with anger and drunkenness and sadness. His body seemed to melt against hers, envelop her in warmth. His fingers running through her short, dark hair put her at ease.

"You will always have a place in my heart," he said quietly. "No matter what happens."

She kissed him hard on the lips and he held her face gently. They broke apart and looked at each other for a moment before he offered her a hand and they began a long walk the short distance to her house. They didn't talk or look at each other, but held hands warily. When Cyrion opened the door he thanked Alarith.

"I'm relieved to see my daughter back in one piece," Cyrion said, smiling. "I'm glad she had you."

"I'm glad I had him too," she said, staring straight into Alarith's eyes. "I don't know what I would have done without him."

Cyrion chuckled good naturedly. "I'm sure you could give hell to a good number of people in this alienage and they know it, pet." He turned back to Alarith. "You have my thanks. I'm sure we will be seeing you at the wedding tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, I can't make it," Alarith said. "I'm preparing for a trip south for some supplies and I have procrastinated enough."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Cyrion said, his lined face stern. "See if you can find some of that Spring Ale they make in Lothering, if you get that far."

"I have a present for the bride, if you'll permit me, Lyriana," Alarith said, turning to Lyriana.

Lyriana looked at him, confused and nodded. She was dumbstruck and exhausted, unprepared for this conversation. He pulled a small piece of wood out of his pocket and handed it to her. "May fortune find you all of your days," he bowed slightly.

She turned it over in her hands, studying the fine carvings and dyes. "It's beautiful Alarith," she said breathlessly, almost forgetting her father.

"What a beautiful little bird!" Cyrion exclaimed. "Did you make this yourself?"

"Yes, sir," Alarith said. Lyriana noticed he almost never met Cyrion's eye. "From a branch of the great tree when it fell in that nasty storm we had."

Lyriana couldn't bear it. "Thank you," she said quietly, her eyes filling. On the bottom, flat and smooth, was carved Little Bird next to a tiny heart. She ran her finger across the grooves, and felt love pour into her.

"Well I better get this one to bed," Cyrion said. "Big day tomorrow. She's still my little girl until tomorrow."

"She'll always be your little girl," Alarith smiled sadly. "Goodnight."


	3. Chapter 2 : The Road Goes On

The moment Lyriana stepped out of the city and saw the expanse of trees, the dirt, the road laying out welcoming her, the sky that was so blue and reached out to the mountains and up, up, up forever, she knew her life would never be the same. The air in her lungs was cool and clean, the sun sirectly shone on her skin, not mired down by the pollution and architecture of the city.

After Duncan showed her how to ride her pony, which she mastered shortly, they were on the road from Valendrian's door. He was quiet that first day, almost meditative, and Lyriana was not paying much attention to the road. She kept rolling the events of her wedding day over in her mind, wondering, looking down at the wedding ring Nelaros never got to wear that she wore on her right index finger, so different were the sizes of their fingers. She didn't think a few days ago that she would be marching to a battle with the King, she thought she would be in that alienage. Forever.

'But at what cost,' she thought, looking down at the road that scrolled beneath her. The look on Shianni's face when Lyriana found her in the arl's estate, the splash of crimson as Vaughn's guard killed Nelaros, and Vaughn himself, his lecherous eyes and yellow teeth. She shuddered, remembering.

Rose's face flashed into her mind, her words as she prayed before her murder, her deathbed pleading to the Maker unheard and unanswered.

She fell asleep that night under the stars, they stretched out so far in every direction, she almost couldn't sleep for staring.

A few days into their ride, Duncan began to open up. The weather was fair and the woods green and bountiful, in full springtime array. Flowers of yellow and purple grew on the sides of the road, and the meadows they passed were peppered with wildflowers as they began entering the forest. He chuckled as he told her stories of the Wardens and the times they had shared.

"They are wonderful companions," he said, "you have nothing to fear."

"I'm not really afraid," Lyriana said, looking up at the sunlight dancing through the treetops.

"Not afraid?" Duncan asked, his smile dropping, "most people are when they face something new."

"Anything to be out of that alienage," she said.

Duncan looked up at the treetops where Lyriana's eyes were transfixed. The breeze in the trees and the strength of the sun played intricate patterns in the sky. He smiled. "It doesn't seem much of a hospitable place," he said, "not the people," he said quickly, "the elves are all very kind to me, its just, well..."

"Its a pit," she said, "I know it, you know it. No reason to deny it."

"Home is a place your heart feels safe," Duncan said. "It may be a pit, but it was still home."

"Yes," Lyriana said. "And still a pit."

Duncan smiled with the ease Lyriana spoke with. She was honest, and her words bore the weight of her feeling, the determination real and true, yet she took it in stride. He guessed being flexible to the circumstances of life was something an elf would know particularly well.

"I knew your mother," he said after a long pause, looking out to the horizon, which wasn't a far stretch with the trees thickening.

"You did?" Lyriana asked, trying to mask her enthusiasm. Her father rarely spoke of her, and she had died when Lyriana was so young that she never really knew who her mother really was, not as a woman. She knew little things, snippets, she remembered that day, but she never had a full working picture of her mother in her mind. No one ever spoke of her. It was like she had disappeared.

"Adaia?" he said, looking at her and smiling. "Yes. She was close with Valendrian, as was I. He taught us both many things and we were friendly with each other."

"I see," Lyriana said, trying to imagine her mother and this shem stooped in Valendrian's hut, learning old histories out of ancient books.

"I tried to recruit her into the Wardens, once a long time ago. She wouldn't go," he chuckled. "Her so young and with you still an infant, I couldn't bear to use the right of conscription on her since we had been friends. We also weren't in need, like we are now." He sighed, "We could use someone like Adaia today."

Up ahead they heard the sounds of horses coming toward them. Duncan stiffened in his saddle and peered into the distance.

As they approached, Duncan settled. It was a company of soldiers, five, riding north, probably to Denerim. They slowed upon seeing them, and hailed Duncan as they stopped.

"Ser Horrace," the captain said to Duncan. "Hail, Grey Warden."

"Hail," Duncan said, bowing his head.

"These roads have been dangerous, darkspawn, wolves, I hear there are knif-" he looked at Lyriana for a moment, turned back and said, "We found three men dead out here in these woods, looks like the Dalish might be involved. Best to keep your wits about you if you head South."

Duncan nodded his head in thanks, but said nothing. Ser Lawrence's horse tramped a bit, spooked by bird that took off too suddenly from the underbrush behind them.

"See you and your servant make it somewhere safe."

The hairs on Lyriana's neck prickled as she tried to avoid his gaze.

"We will, excuse us gentlemen," Duncan said, his horse beginning to walk lazily by as if willed, and Lyriana's followed. The men waited a moment before their horses spurred into life, hurtling back on their way.

The silence was thick again, like it was when bloodshed and rape were skittering through her mind.

"I can't claim to know how that feels," Duncan said at last. "I apologize, it wasn't my place to teach them a lesson."

Lyriana shrugged.

"It does bother you," he said, "that humans always treat elves this way."

"It does, but what does it matter?" she said, her tone sharpening, her eyes narrowing. "Everyone always wants to hold to the past, to say once elves were the most advanced race, that once we were slaves, and that any of this, any of it good or bad, has something to do with where we are today as a people, but it doesn't."

Duncan nodded. "Then who is to change this?"

She huffed. "I don't know. King Cailen, I suppose."

He smiled, but hid it well. "Are all humans bad?"

"No," she said, the words barely uttered.

"Who in your experience hasn't been? I know the alienage doesn't usually have humans up to the best intentions, if any," he said, "What makes you believe in the goodness of man, that there must be good humans?"

She didn't have an answer. She didn't want to say the truth, that the only shem who had shown her any kindness was he himself, and that she didn't even trust that entirely. She didn't want to say that she only said there were good humans because he was one.

She looked down at the saddle, her silence settling in her mind.

"It is a complex issue," Duncan said, thoughtfully. "I long for a time when elves and humans live in peace and equality but I'm not sure I will see it in my time." His eyes looked hollow as he looked down the road. The sun was drooping in the West, the late afternoon sun shone down on them as they emerged from a patch of woods. Lyriana squinted into it.

"Let's camp," Duncan said, his dark skin pale. "I've been on the road for a long time, I need rest."

Duncan effortlessly dismounted his steed at the side of the road and lead him forward through the brush to a clearing. "We'll make camp, here," he called back to Lyriana, who was already halfway into the brush behind him.

They set up Duncan's tent, he only brought one, and he offered it up to her. She was grateful for it. He began to start a fire as Lyriana collected more wood from the surrounding thicket. She trained her ears to the sound of Duncan striking flint and tinder as she picked up pieces of wood. She picked up a branch from a tree and saw something from the corner of her eye. It disappeared as she turned to look.

She looked around her, still as death, one hand on the daggers at her back that Duncan had armed her with before they left Denerim.

She heard nothing except Duncan in the distance at his flint. After a few moments she bent to pick up her handful of twigs and try to find something a bit more substantial when she heard a crack behind her and the same sense that something was there, just out of her line of vision. She picked up a few more branches quickly and turned to run back to the camp when she ran into a deer with long, curled horns standing in the shadows, watching her.

Lyriana looked at the creature with wide eyes. She had never seen an animal such as this. The never had anything much in the alienage, apart from rats and dogs, maybe a cat or two. The animal was white, her eyes large and black, and she seemed to almost glisten in the moonlight, though it was faint.

She longed to go nearer, but didn't dare. She bowed her head down low, to salute the beast. When she rose, it was gone.

Lyriana returned to the fire with the rest of the wood. The beginnings were crackling as Duncan began setting up utensils for cooking.

"Do you think there are really Dalish around here?" Lyriana asked suddenly, dropping the wood gruffly to the ground.

"Possibly," Duncan said, not looking up from what he was doing. "The Dalish wander, they could be anywhere."

"But in your opinion, are they around here?" she asked.

"Why, Lyriana? Thinking of running away?" he asked, giving her a sidelong stare for a moment or two and then returning to getting water boiled.

"No," she said, unsure if she meant it. "I just never knew they really existed. They've always been this mythical legend to us, you know."

"I see," he said, "They do exist and from the looks of it they are somwhere in the area though I must say they hide themselves well. Even I rarely see them except by chance or if they are looking for me."

She thought about all the people who had disappeared over the years from the alienage, saying they were off to find the Dalish and never returning. So many thought they had met tragic ends and used it as an even deeper excuse to stay in the alienage and hold on to the family ties that flourished there, even if nothing else did. There were always a few who believed. Alarith always swore he saw them on one of his merchant trips, swore they saved him.

She thought of Alarith. So much had happened, the motion of everything with Duncan after the wedding, that she hadn't even said goodbye to him.

'May we meet again,' she thought, thinking of the tiny wooden bird that sat in her pack across the camp.

"We should reach Lothering by tomorrow night, late, if we ride early and hard for most of the day," Duncan said. "It is the town north of Ostagar, an old ruin where the King is staging his defense in this battle. Then its a short ride South and we'll be ready to join him."

"Will we meet other Wardens there?" she asked.

"That's where nearly all of our Wardens are," he said, lighting a pipe as he stirred meat into the pot over the fire. It bubbled happily as delicious smells rose out over them. "King Cailen is taking the blight very seriously, and a good thing too. We may be able to cut off the whole thing before it really begins."

"Are there many other elves in the Wardens?"

"Not many," Duncan said. "The Dalish are rare to find and even harder to get one of their hunters to join us. They are quite disconnected from the world we know and it does ask a lot for them to leave a life they've always known to be subjected to Ferelden disrespect of elves. Still, we have a few city elves, a few from the circle of magi, and the mages themselves also have a number of elves in their ranks."

"I see," she said.

"Humans may not know what to make of you all the time, but being a Warden is deep and these men and women will be like brothers and sisters to you," Duncan said, his voice kind. "There is no difference between and elf, a dwarf or a man within the Wardens I command, Lyriana, and that's a promise I will see to."

She sat up stiff, blushing. She didn't realize how scared she actually was, not so much of being a Warden, but of being an elf in a human world. She felt freedom she had never known before, the open road and the sun and sky above her, the clarity the world had and the beauty. She didn't want it taken away.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Duncan smiled, and said resolutely. "I think you really must meet Alistair. I think he would help show you the kind of brotherhood we have."

"Alistair?"

"He's another Warden, new, like you. He has had a difficult life, so many Wardens have, and yet he really takes things in stride," Duncan said, nursing his pipe. "He's bright, enthusiastic, I think he would benefit you."

They finished their food, and Lyriana went to sleep in the tent. She slept well on the road, something Duncan remarked at being extraordinary for one who never traveled. He slept out by the dying embers of the fire, ready for trouble.

Lyriana fell into a black, deep sleep. She saw great mountains and rivers, all funneling into a cave that led into the heart of Denerim's alienage. Every path met the same end, every person haggard and faceless, their voices distorted from understanding. She was almost happy when the sounds of yelling outside woke her.

She grabbed at a dagger on the wall of her tent and ran to see what happened to Duncan. She looked around furiously before she realized he was still lying on his bedroll, thrashing in his sleep against some unseen opposnent. She didn't know what to do, so Lyriana shook him hard and he woke from the dream.

His face was drawn, and he easily looked a decade older than he had that afternoon.

"Duncan, are you alright?" Lyriana asked, frantically. She checked to see if something had wounded him, an animal maybe.

"Yes," he said, his voice thin. He was breathing hard. "Yes, I'm alright now. Thank you for waking me."

"What happened?"

"Just a dream," he said, but his face was still pale, his eyes drawn and his brow furrowed as if in deep pain. Sweat was beading on his brow and down his neck as he began to regain his composure. "I have been having terrible nightmares of late."


	4. Chapter 3 : Tonight, Tonight

The rest of Lyriana's trip to Ostagar was not as swift as Duncan had planned.

The first night Duncan woke Lyriana with nightmares she thought it nothing. Dreams torture even human men, she thought, had a cup of a mossy tasting tea with him and went back to sleep, barely thinking of it again before drifting back to sleep.

The next morning it was already bright when Lyriana climbed from her tent, trying to tighten the leather straps of her chestpiece. The bulky thing was pulled off a much larger guard at the arl's estate and it hung on her, making her gaunt to look upon.

Duncan was sitting, his eyes closed, leaning against a tree with his sword lying across his lap. Was he asleep?

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she said tenatively, sitting down next to the fire, adding twigs and stoking the flames that burned low. "How are you?" Her voice shook.

"Not well," he said, opening his eyes but not coming to join her. "I fear I may be too worn from last night to travel hard today as I wished."

"What's another day?" Lyriana said, smiling.

"That is the first time you have smiled in my presence," he said. He himself managed a weak smile, but it had no energy in it.

"My mind has been heavy," she said tersely, jabbing the foundations of the fire.

"Understandably," he said.

They were quiet. Birds called and chatted above them, warbling through the trees. Lyriana's mind was back in the alienage. She noted nothing around her, it all fell away. Shianni's tears, Vaughn's hot breath... that is what she saw, she heard the cries of her friends, Vaughn's proposition.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Duncan said. "I have no intention of moving camp yet."

"Can you read my mind?" she asked, a fleck of spit shooting from her lips. "Do you use sorcery and-"

"No," he said, lifting his hand shakily. "No, I don't read minds."

"Then how do you just know what I am thinking?"

"For one, it wasn't a stretch to wonder," he said. "I can't imagine having your mind on much else. Not with a look like that on your face, anyway."

Lyriana scowled. Was she so easy to read? She thought herself such a mystery.

"Life is eternally filled with tough choices, Lyriana," he said, closing his eyes again. His color hadn't seemed to return from the night before, and to say he was sapped of energy seemed an understatement. "Life is filled with choices with no right answer."

"You mean Vaughn."

"I do," he said. "If he was your first hard choice, you may not account yourself lucky now but you will."

Lyriana sprung to her feet and stood over him. Her face was red, hot, burning, eyes quivering. "How dare you?" she yelled. "What do you know of me? Of my life and my choices? Of what that meant to me?"

"I don't," he said. He almost smiled, which fanned her rage. "Nor do you know me. I chose you for how you acted, for how you chose. I chose you because you make hard decisions, decisions no one will be happy with. You are the type of soldier I need, and I found you. You are the reason I came to the alienage."

Lyriana's face twisted and she pulled a dagger from its sheath, pointed it at him lazily. "I'm glad I passed your test, shem," she spat. "I'm glad that letting a raping murderer get away, paid, like some kind of fucking mercenary is they type you were looking for."

"You are letting your feelings cloud your vision," Duncan said, unphased by her anger and her weapon. "You knew what it meant to have someone that powerful have the upper hand. An arl's son, if he has his father's ear, can weild as much power as the arl himself. He would have killed you, your family, your cousin, your friends, and may have very well taken his rage out on even more in the alienage. I have known Vaughn and his father, they would not have relented."

"I took his money," she said, tears springing up to the corners of her eyes. "I sold out my people for forty sovereigns."

He looked up at her. The blade of her dagger was now much closer to him.

"I should have killed him," she said, her angry tears blurring her sight. "I should have killed him and stolen the gold."

"Did you really do it for the money, Lyriana?" Duncan said. "I don't think you did."

Her body shuddered as she cried. She was tempted, she had thought of all the good that much money could have done, how her father would never cry again, alone in the night when he thought she didn't hear him, that it could extinguish her fear. She could buy friends out of trouble with the guards, maybe even bribe them for a little extra lenience. Forty sovereigns? It wasn't just more money than she had ever seen, it was more money than she would be worth at a slave auction.

It wasn't the money. It was something worse.

"I am not passing judgment, for more reasons than it is simply not my place. Your choices and motivations are your own," he said. "However, if you get any closer to me with that dagger I will have to start to think about disarming you. Seeing as I am ill, I don't find it likely. Neither do I find it likely that you are going to strike me down where I sit, so why don't you put the weapon down?"

She looked down at her hand. It seemed alien to her. The dagger was big, made for humans hands. She felt its weight in her hand as it shook, staring down disgusted, wondering if it was ever used against one of the elves who disappeared from the alienage. Maybe it had killed her mother.

She turned away from Duncan, dropping the dagger on the ground as she went back into the tent without a word.

Lyriana sobbed for what seemed like hours, visions of her last day in the alienage bombarding her thoughts until they followed her into a fitful sleep. Her energy had been sapped by her emotion. She had never cried for Shianni. She had never cried for Rose, now dead. She vowed to the gods that she would avenge them now. She had to. In her dreams they danced a silent, macabre waltz, silently laughing as water flooded in at their heels, but on they danced.

It was still hot when she woke, still day. Her eyes ached. She didn't want to face Duncan, so sat on her bedroll trying to sort out what to do. She couldn't go home, maybe ever again. She couldn't face Shianni, and who knows what had happened to Soris on her account. Valendrian and her father... "No," she said aloud. She couldn't go back there.

There was the Dalish. She sensed they were close after what happened the night before. How close were they? Could she get to them? Duncan was sick, she could probably get away from him. He seemed to trust her but she knew nothing of navigation, or signs of the Dalish. Adaia used to say that shems would pass Dalish camps as closely as the buildings in the alienage were to each other and not been seen. They had magic and experience hiding and travelling. She didn't even know if any of this was true.

Then she thought about Duncan. He wasn't likely to make it through the journey without her, at least not in time for the battle. He had saved her life in Denerim, and who knew what would happen if she had stayed in the alienage. A dungeon may have been more hospitable after all.

Lyriana sighed and came out of the tent. Duncan had managed to trap some squirrels and was roasting them on wooden stakes that hung low over the fire.

"I apologize," he said when he saw her. "I didn't have the energy for anything more than this."

Lyriana's heart hurt. "I should be the one apologizing. I can't believe you would even get me food after how I acted. I am sincerely... I am just so sorry."

"I accept," he said plainly, as if it didn't even need to be said. "I am no stranger to pain."

"I was afraid," she blurted, sitting down with the grace of a toddler. "I was afraid of Vaughn. I was afraid I couldn't kill him."

Duncan said nothing, but looked at her to continue.

"I saw what he had... done to Shianni." Lyriana's mouth was dry after sleeping and her voice cracked. "I saw what his guards had done to Rose and Nelaros. I never killed a man before that day, and we killed so many. I never even thought about it before."

"Never?"

"Well, nothing outside of theory," she said. "I wanted to kill the men who killed my mother. I wanted to kill Vaughn. When I saw him with Shianni, I saw my mother. I saw them just... taking turns. I was so afraid. I was so angry but there were two of us, and Soris had never even held a sword before. So I just left."

There was a long silence between them. There were no birds this time.

"Not just," he said. So much time had passed that Lyriana wasn't sure what he meant. "You didn't just leave. Why did you fight your way up to his room instead of out of the house? You cared, you love them."

"He said he was going to burn down the alienage."

"He probably would have, if you had failed," Duncan said. "As stubborn and cruel as his father, as ignorant. You saved your people."

"No. I was a coward."

"Lyriana, I know that now you have felt the after effects of your decision it seems like it was wrong. The past is always clearer than the present. In the moment we don't always have time to figure it out on the spot, but you did what was needed for the good of the most people. You put your personal feelings aside and completed your task against incalculable odds," he said. "You have the perfect makings of a Warden."

He took one of the skewers from the ground, slicing into the squirrel flesh. "And you also have much to learn," he said, handing her food. "You will learn it."

They ate quietly, but Lyriana's heart seemed to grow. She knew then that Duncan needed to take her. He would teach her all she needed to know. She knew it.

After eating Duncan's spirits seemed to improve. "Let's ride for a bit," he said. "We can at least make it a good way before dark."

They moved slowly, slower than any stretch of the trip so far, and the trees on the side of the road seemed to grow darker and thicker. They were in the heart of the Brecilian Forest, Duncan explained. He pointed out most things of interest as they passed, Lyriana sucking it in like a sponge. The world really was beautiful and mysterious. It was so much more than she expected, so expansive and exciting. Each new flower was a miracle.

The horses seemed happy for the pace, as did Duncan. He was still looking pale and wan, tired, but they pressed on until dark regardless, every once in a while rollicking over the land at a gallop for as long as Duncan could stand it.

They made camp, ate and Duncan went to sleep almost with food still in his mouth. Lyriana stayed up with her thoughts inside the tent, turning the bird Alarith had given her over and over in her hands. This was all she had left of home, maybe the last thing from home she would ever see. Alarith she didn't even want to think about, but inside that bird, down in the core, was the tree that had held her, supported her, the magic that had sustained her all her life.

She jumped when she heard a screech outside. She grabbed her dagger and saw Duncan thrashing on the ground again. Had he really made that sound, that unnatural shriek? She knelt down and shook him hard, trying to pull him from the agony of his dreams.

He awoke eyes wild. He lunged for her, still between worlds and she fell beneath him, dagger clattering from her hand. Lyriana pushed up against him with all her strength but all was futile. "Its Lyriana!" she said, staring into his eyes, pushing at his chest with her fists. "Lyriana!"

Duncan breathed hard over her, his hands baring down sharply on her shoulders, going for the throat. He stopped, shudders convulsing through his body as his open eyes began to see the world outside his dream.

"Lyriana," he said, understanding for the first time what he was doing.

He rolled off her as she struggled to get away from him. "What is wrong with you?" she yelled. She caught glimpse of his face, contorted into a look of fear the likes of which she had never seen. She forgot her small injuries and moved towards him. "Duncan?"

"The archdemon," he said. He was in a trance. "I see him. He's coming."

"The what?" she said, going towards him.

"The archdemon," he said, his voice low, a whisper. "It is a blight. He, he sees me..." His fear peaked here, his voice shrill, yet he was frozen.

Lyriana looked into the distance where Duncan's eyes were fixed. There was nothing there but trees. She laid a soft hand on his shoulder. He flinched and looked up at her.

"What is happening to you?" she asked. Her voice trembled.

"Its nothing," he said. "Nightmares."

"Bullshit," she said.

He looked up at her weakly. She went over to the tent, opened the flap and grabbed her skein of water. She handed it to him and sat on his bedroll, aware for the first time that she was still mostly in her small clothes. Duncan swallowed the water, first slowly but then his gulps were so large that water trickled down his chin and puddled on the ground before him. He dropped it to the ground when it was drained.

"What is happening to you?" she reiterated.

"I can see the mind of the horde," he said, his breath still staggered. "And they can see me. I can feel them, how they move, what they seek. I know where they are, what they're doing, sometimes what they're thinking."

"Darkspawn?"

"Yes," he said. "Call it a gift of the Grey Wardens."

"Do they attack you in your dreams?" she asked. "Do they feel you?"

"I am oathbound against telling you this. Not yet, Lyriana. You will know all sooner than you hope."

"Not if you're dead before we arrive," she said. She raised her hands defensively and without provocation. "Not from me, I mean... I don't know what's happening to you. I'm..."

"Worried?" he asked. He smiled a small, sick smile.

"Something like that," she said.

"Lyriana, you are every bit the spitting image of your mother," he said, settling down onto the ground. "Crafty, loving, smart, beautiful."

"Don't change the subject," she said. "Do I have to save your life tonight?"

"Not likely," he said. "Though, its not long off, now." 


End file.
